What Happened in Hell?
by lilghost
Summary: Dean's body is back, but honestly his mind is still on Hell, still in Hell... and once Sam knows the extent of the damage, can he bring him back out? S/D, PWP, Sexual Healing mental- repost previously 'What in the HEDoubleHockeySticks' but that title blew


Dean was completely silent the entire way back to the motel.

Sam was reeling. _40 years…_ and only ten of those years found Dean any respite. He couldn't have done it. He would have gone completely insane.

'_Who says Dean hasn't…?'_ a voice that sounded disturbingly like Alastair's said in the back of his mind. He frowned at that.

'_I'd know. This is Dean-- he's not insane, he's hurting.'_ he thought back at the voice in his head. He looked over at Dean for the billionth time since the car ride began, but there was no change. Tear tracks making cracks in the dust on his face, a look of sheer nothingness in his eyes as he tried to stuff his feelings. _Typical Dean…_ Sam would have smiled at the thought if the facts weren't that, in this case, his brother being his normal self was both frightening and upsetting. He resisted the urge to reach over and try to comfort his brother with a hand to the shoulder or thigh, knowing that his attempt at being human would be misinterpreted as thinking that Dean was weak and needed help-- and god forbid Dean ever needed help.

They got to the hotel and ordered a pizza in, then watched a little useless public access TV-- well, Dean stared at the TV like he was watching it but forgetting to laugh at the right times and Sam was staring at his laptop like he was researching a new job and clicking various things when he thought to. There was a huge elephant in the room, and Sam only know one surefire way that they were going to get past it. He grabbed the keys, told Dean he'd be back, and headed towards the only liquor store he'd seen on the way into town. If Dean wouldn't talk on his own Sam would let the booze talk for him.

-

Three hours later they had been drinking heavily, munching on pizza, and Dean was trying hard to be his normal goofy drunk self. Every time he thought Sam wasn't looking, though, he seemed on the verge of tears. Sam sat on Dean's bed, just close enough that their arms brushed together as they'd always done when one or the other was upset and Sam had been old enough to know what "gay" was-- before Sam's revelation of gay, but after Dean's, Sam was usually tucked under one of Dean's arms. And even before that, when they were both far too little to be self-conscious, Sam would be nestled in Dean's lap with his head on his brother's shoulder, breathing softly in of that smell that was Dean.

Dean didn't move away from the arm that touched his. He didn't even make a motion like he had noticed that Sam was touching him.

"It was every day Sammy…" he said softly, and Sam knew that everything was about to come tumbling out. "Every goddamn day… all day. No food. No water. No rest, except when Alastair was making his offer. Stretched out so far on the rack that my joints screamed and creaked." he gave a wry smile. "I should be like six feet taller."

"Dean…" Sam said, his voice almost cracking with compassion for his brother and inner pain that he hadn't rescued his brother sooner. "Dean… I'm so sorry…"

"At first, your body, or soul or whatever, doesn't realize there's no food or water." he said told him. "You have to use the bathroom a lot, but I think that's the soul's way of trying to remember life. And there are no torture bathroom breaks." he said, taking another swig of Jack. "So you're just pissing and shitting yourself while they slice you up… by the second or third day the bodily functions ease up, but then the thirst sets in." he trailed off for a moment, staring off into the distance and saying nothing. Sam said nothing as well, afraid to break this spell and bring his brother back to his macho-reality and lose Dean this much needed moment of sharing. "The thirst never lets up. Your mind knows that you don't need water anymore, but knowing that almost makes it worse. I can remember… they'd be cutting up my intestines or whatever and I'd think that I'd do anything for a drink of anything-- piss, blood, spleen juice, anything to ease this thirst. And you never get used to it. Never. Every day it gets worse and worse until you're begging anyone that passes you for something, anything. Even after I… gave in… they don't give you mercy on that one, no matter what deal you try to make." he looked up at Sam with pain so clear in his eyes that Sam wanted to hunt down and kill everything that had anything to do with this-- anyone and everything. Even himself for being the reason that Dean was there in the first place.

"You're out Dean. And you never have to go back." he told him. Dean just snorted. "Hate to break it to you Sammy, but everyone dies sooner or later. We just happen to die more often than other people."

"I know you'll die someday, but if you're doing this stuff for heaven and the angels you think they're going to let you just rot in hell afterwards?" Sam asked carefully, trying to sound soothing. Dean shook his head.

"I don't know what to think." he said. "Apocalypse comes and we're all wiped out and Satan's little bitches then yeah, I think I'm number one on the list for heading right on back."

"We're not going to let that happen." Sam told him, grabbing him by the shoulders and making him look straight at him. "We're NOT." he said with a little shake to Dean, trying to get him to understand and to believe. Dean turned away.

"You're right Sammy." he said in the same tone that he had always used to tell Sam that Santa existed and their father was going come home that night. "It'll all be okay. I mean, they're angels. They can't lose." and that little revelation made both of them fall into an uneasy silence.

"Dean?" Sam asked after a moment. "This is gonna sound stupid but… there wasn't anyone? No one that took pity on the souls there?"

Dean snorted. "Sam, despite what you think, demons don't get reformed and they don't get better. Their number one love in life is fucking with people's minds until normal, good humans become demons too." he told him. "So no, there was no one. Early on some of the things there would try to act nice, but it was just to make the knife twist farther when they started to cut you. They'd act so nice and sweet and then they'd be next in line to start in at you." his voice cut with anger and a tear leaked down his face, and it became pretty apparent to Sam that Dean had been fooled more than once by offers of comfort and friendship. _'Sensibilities be damned._' Sam thought, and he wrapped his arms around his brother, bringing the drunken man in to lay against his chest.

"But the worst part… they very worst, worse than being cut or lied to or the goddamn thirst…" he said, clutching his brother tight. "Is that you never get touched in kindness, or love, or pleasure. The second you feel someone's hand on you, you know the pain is gonna start." he said. Sam marveled at that one-- he hadn't had time to realize it, but it finally occurred to him that Dean hadn't had any affection or love in 40 years. _40 years…_ it was no wonder that Dean had an even harder time trusting others than he had before, even extending to Sam who had definitely been IN the circle before.

"So you never… for 40 years?" he asked, sounding uncomfortable to ask if his brother had gotten off.

"Came?" he asked with a cruel laugh. "Oh yes, I came-- but it wasn't voluntary. And definitely not a nice feeling. Somehow they found a way to make THAT painful too."

Once second they were sitting there.

The next, Sam had Dean pushed carefully back on the bed and was spreading gentle kisses on his face, Sam's hands caressing Dean's shoulders. Dean struggled a little.

"What the HELL are you doing Sam!?"

"I'm gonna make it all better." he told him, kissing his forehead and stroking his hair back. "Just wait, okay? I'll make it better." he assured him, kissing down Dean's throat as he tried to get the clothes off of the older hunter. Dean's shirt came off pretty easily, and he kissed over the torso. Dean had stopped struggling, but the way that he laid there dead still and staring at the wall bothered Sam. This was for Dean's ENJOYMENT. Was Dean thinking about this the same way that he felt about his time in hell?

Sam flicked his tongue over the flat of Dean's nipple and Dean was ripped from his stupor by a shudder than ran through him. That shot of pleasure seemed to surprise Dean, who still wasn't absolutely sure that pleasure truly existed for him-- especially not laying under another man, and especially not laying under another man with _Sammy's_ face. Sam looked up at him, and for a moment Dean thought he saw black… but it was just his brother's beautiful, sweet eyes full of concern and love for his big brother.

"Dean?" he asked him, and Dean smiled a little.

"You gonna make it better or not?" he asked him, eyes mischievous. Sam grinned and leaned down to start sucking at the nipple in questions, earning a half-stifled groan from the older man. Sam was using one hand to brace himself above Dean and the other was stroking over Dean's torso, trying to find anything sensitive and giving particularly good attention at those places. He moved his hand down to Dean's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and Dean froze a little.

"What?" Sam asked, cocking his head a little in a way that reminded Dean of Cas.

"Nothin'…" he said. "Just… be gentle. It's my first time."

"But that woman back at Oktoberfest…"

"Yeah, that didn't actually happen." he admitted. "She got too drunk, and just as we were making out she passed out. But I didn't want you to think that I had lost my mojo." he admitted. Sam rolled his eyes.

"That is so like you." he said as he stuff a hand into the pants to feel the bulge through the underwear. "One of these days your macho bravado is gonna catch up to you." he said even as Dean was starting to writhe in pleasure.

"If I knew… what those words AH meant…. I w-oooooooo-ould probab… prob… for the love of god Sam stop for a second…" he said, trying to get Sam to stop the evil thing his thumb was doing-- Sam had stuck one of his thumbs through the slit in Dean's briefs and was rubbing the spot just below the head on the bottom as his other hand worked the shaft. Sam seemed very determined as he worked and looked up in surprise when Dean said to stop. Then he smiled.

"No." he said, pulling him all the way out and starting to stroke in earnest. Dean writhed a little bit more, rolling his hips in that way that he likes to when he's feeling good.

"Whattya mean, no?" he asked. "That's rape Sammy." "Can't rape the willing, Dean." he said, leaning down to take the dick into his mouth and start to suck. The sucking nearly drove Dean up the wall, he was starting to honestly moan now, his eyes wide from the pleasure.

Sam took his time. He wasn't an expert at blow jobs but he knew what he liked when a mouth was on him and he tried to do that. First he teased the tip with his tongue, and the swirling seemed to get a good response from Dean. He then used his tongue everywhere on the dick, listening to Dean cry out and an expletive or two come from his mouth.

He decided to change tactics and started to suck on the tip, jacking the other half with one of his hands. With his other hand he started to play with Dean's balls, which Dean seemed to enjoy. He took more into his mouth, trying to increase the strength of his sucking, driven on by the strangled moans from above. He moved back to the tip and started to use his tongue to play that the slit, and the older man had trouble keeping his hips on the bed. When Sam gave a long, slow lick across the slit, making sure his bottom lip dragged sloppily from the sensitive frenulum up the head as he did, Dean began to beg.

"Please…" he begged, trying to cover up his begging with a moan. Sam did it again. "Ah! Please! Oh god, please, Sammy, suck, please, suck…" he begged, and he was rewarded with sucking of the first degree. Sam sucked it as hard as he could, as though he was trying to force the orgasm out.

It worked.

Dean was crying out loud, body throwing itself up off the bed with the force of his orgasm, his voice almost hoarse from crying Sam's name. Sam felt a definite sense of pride that he could make his brother feel so good, that he could take some of the Hell-pain away from him if just for a moment.

"I love you Dean." he whispered, the sound lost amidst the moaning of Dean and the groaning on the springs on the bed.

-

The next morning they were pulling out of the awful little motel, and Sam was glad to be leaving behind the memory of his brother's pain. He just hoped that maybe now that it was in the open Dean could begin to heal.

"Metallica? Again?" he asked wryly.

"Would you rather Barbara Streisand?"

"Honestly? Anything would be better than this album again." he told him, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well, my baby can't let gay noise like that come out of it's speakers." he said, and both were silent for a moment, remembering the night before. "Sammy?" Dean asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah Dean?"

"Thanks. For last night." he said as he pulled onto the road. Sam felt a sense of pride swell in his chest that he had forced a gratitude from his brother about something to do with his feelings.

"It's what brothers do, Dean. You've done it for me."

"Yeah, well… at the end… NO ONE finds out about that." he told him. Sam chuckled.

"First, who am I gonna tell? Bobby? Second, _why_ on Earth would I want anyone to know?"

"You know, you're pretty damn good at blow jobs." he told him. "You should do it professionally."

"Seriously, you start making cracks and I will tell everyone that you cried."

"You're the one that cries during sex."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean was back.


End file.
